Joe walked in carrying a cup of tea and a toilet roll. He placed the cup of tea at my feet, and the toilet roll in my lap.
‘There’s plenty more if you need it,’ he whispered in my ear.
We both burst out laughing.
‘Firstly, have you a name?’ he started.
‘Jaysus, how can I think of babies’ names right now — are you crazy?’
‘The name of the father, you dozy idiot.’
‘Of course I have a name. It’s not like I’ve been sleeping around.’
‘Does he know?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want him to.’
‘Why not?’
‘I want to go home.’
‘How convenient.’
I gave him a cold glare. I wanted the truth, but I wanted it easy. Could nobody see that I knew all this?
‘I can’t say he’ll be exactly over the moon.’
‘Well, how did it happen, for God’s sake, Jack? I don’t understand.’
‘I had to come off the pill, I was getting terrible migraine headaches.’
‘That’s it?’ he said angrily. ‘This is 1987. You can buy condoms in the garage, for fuck’s sake! Please don’t tell me you didn’t bother.’
‘I didn’t bother. I thought I would be safe. I had just finished a period. I didn’t think it would happen so fast.’ There’s no better weapon to confuse a man with than to mention periods. It always works.
‘Well, what now?’
‘I’ve got two choices,’ I said huskily.
‘Yeah?’
Wait for it. ‘I’m thinking of having an abortion.’ I paused. ‘Or I go home and hope it works out.’
‘What about the third?’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘The third option. You could tell the father. Things might work out between you and him. Who the fuck is he, anyway?’
‘There’s no third option. He’s just a guy. I don’t want to be involved with him. It was pure sex, that’s all.’ Christ, I can’t believe this is really happening.
‘Christ, when will you ever grow up, Jack?’ he sneered.
‘I didn’t think it would happen to me, OK?’ I couldn’t believe my friends were turning on me.
‘Why not? What’s so different about you?’ he shouted.
I had no answer for that one. I felt like a fool.
We sat, we smoked and we talked. We sat. We smoked. We talked.
While we were doing that, the notion of an abortion had taken root. I felt unequipped to take on the responsibility of a child. It wasn’t that I really didn’t want one, it was more like a crippling fear that I would handle it the way I had handled everything else in my life. I would make a complete and utter balls of it. The thoughts of ruining someone else’s life were too much to bear. Somehow, I couldn’t find a way to explain that to anyone. I couldn’t put it into words. Yes. It was not fear, but a genuine belief that I could not do it. I kept these thoughts to myself, however. I felt no urgency to tell anyone what I was planning to do. I played the game. At the end of the day, the decision was mine to make, and mine alone.
When Joe took me home that evening, he was silent for most of the journey. I felt isolated and rejected. I was completely wiped out.
The next morning, I woke up feeling someone nudging me impatiently.
‘Hey, Jack! Wake up.’ It was Jill.
I sat up in bed, bleary-eyed and exhausted. The previous night’s discussions had left me drained.
‘I made you a cup of tea,’ she said. It was a pathetic effort but I was glad. However, the sight of the warm milky tea made my stomach do a double somersault. I barely made it to the toilet before I threw up. Jill followed me in a panic with a piece of toast.
‘Here, try this, they say it settles your stomach.’
She sounded like a midwife. The sight of the toast only sent me reeling again. I threw up twice in succession, but still the queasy sickening sensation would not abate. The smell of burning bread was all of a sudden revolting. I was so sick I could barely talk.
I got back into bed and pulled the covers up around my neck.
‘Jack, I’m really sorry. My God, you’ve gone fifty shades of green.’
‘Irish, through and through,’ I joked shakily.
Jill had tears in her eyes. I was delighted — served her right. For once in my life I was genuinely sick. I didn’t have to fake it. I milked it to the extreme.
‘I told you I was homesick,’ I whined. ‘Jesus, I don’t think I can get up.’
I eventually managed. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but I was going to make her pay.
‘Where the hell were you?’ she sobbed. ‘You could have rung or something. I was out of my mind worrying about you.’ She fussed over the pillows like a mother hen. This is brilliant, I thought.
‘I went to see Joe,’ I sighed.
‘Jack — I know you. Now don’t go making any rash decisions. This needs to be discussed at length. You know I’ll always be there for you, no matter what. I only said all those things because I was worried.’
The last was uttered under muffled tears. I could see Jill was really upset. I felt sorry for her and didn’t know why. I was the one with the problem! I hugged her fiercely and had another little cry myself. I realised I needed every single person I knew, especially the ones who knew me the best. Jill had been one of my closest friends since we were kids.
At that moment, I understood how much worse the situation could be. My father had always said, ‘The lesser by the greater, is made lesser.’ How right he was. I eventually managed to assuage Jill’s fears. No, I was not going to get on a plane for Dublin. No, I was not going to phone home yet. No, I was not going to tell Andrew yet. No, I was not going to fling myself in the Thames. No, I was not going to contemplate an abortion. Pause.
I did an expert job at persuading her to go to work. It was an Oscar-winning performance. In truth, my stomach was still very sick. I could have stayed in bed all day, but the sickness was a constant reminder of my predicament. As soon as she was gone out the front door, I dragged myself out of bed.
When I located the local Well Woman Clinic, I was received rather coldly. At first I thought I was imagining things. The nurse hardly passed words with me and carried out the routine checks without any emotion whatsoever. It was a lonely experience. I could almost read her thoughts. Another Irish slut up the pole. Fuck off home, Paddy. You’re taking up valuable space, space for real English people. I was lying on a hard cold stretcher and she squeezed my nipples to check whether they were introverted or extroverted. By the time she was finished they had practically developed personalities. I wanted to smack her head against the wall, and get her dirty hands off me.
After the probing and prodding operation was complete, I was sent into another room to discuss my options. Again, it was a very straightforward, non-emotional exchange.
‘Are you keeping it?’ The doctor kept his eyes down and wrote as he talked.
Hello? I’m here, right across the table from you. You can look at me if you wish. I don’t have Aids — you can check the blood tests.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t made a decision as yet.’
‘You must make a decision, and soon, if you intend to abort it.’
Suddenly, my baby was an it. For the first time, I allowed my hand to ramble over my lower abdomen. It felt the same. No bump. No magical movement.
‘I am giving you some literature, Miss, Miss…’
‘Thank you,’ I said coldly, getting up from my chair and grabbing the leaflets from his hand.
‘Should you wish to consult with a counsellor, I can arrange that too,’ he finished solemnly. Consult with a counsellor? If they’re anything like you I would be just as well to put a Band Aid on my head.
I left the Well Woman Clinic feeling anything but a well woman. I was panicked, and confused. Time was crucial. I had no
t thought about that. I was now more pressured than ever to make a decision. At home, in the flat, I made some tea and managed to get two slices of toast into my stomach. Unfortunately, I made the fatal mistake of reading the literature at the same time.
I had gotten as far as the procedure for a ‘saline-type’ termination. Another trip to the toilet saw me gasping for air. I lay down on the bed with the pamphlet crumpled in my sweating hand. A picture peeped out from between my fingers. A tiny hand was grimly displayed on the front of the leaflet; beside it, a full-sized adult’s thumb to illustrate the comparison. I slowly opened the tatty pamphlet, smoothing the creases outwards. I stared long and hard at the picture. I imagined my baby’s hands, mutilated, torn and dumped in a black sack. The minute organs dismembered, burnt, hidden and forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind.
The clinic didn’t know it, but handing me that information was the best thing they could have done for me. I didn’t need Joe, Jill or anyone else to advise me in that terrible moment. In the dim light of my bedroom, the dark image stapled itself to my brain cells for ever. I made my decision. It was final. This baby was going to live.
I patted my tummy almost instinctively. In this action, I acknowledged the baby’s presence. For the first time in my life, I had made a choice that was ‘selfless’. A choice based on another’s needs, another’s welfare, another’s life. I never ever wanted to have that choice again.
In the following weeks, I prepared to go home. I tied up all the loose ends, my job, my bills, my plane ticket, and my possessions. Joe and Jill helped as best they could. I was almost excited. We had contacted Karen and her long-time boyfriend Mick. They offered their support and begged me to come home. I wanted to. Except that I was more terrified of telling my parents than anything else. I picked up the phone and put it down again, and picked it up again dozens of times. It went on and on. When I had procrastinated to the point of having nothing else to do, there only remained two small jobs. I dreaded them both.
‘Hello, Andrew.’ I leaned against the inside of the red telephone box.
‘Hello, Molly.’ Andrew had nicknamed me Molly after Molly Malone. He thought it was an original joke and I hadn’t got the heart to tell him it was about as funny as a road accident. Why did every English person believe they were the first to think of calling us ‘Paddy’, or slag us about leprechauns? Didn’t they know they were extinct? What made them think we still had no television? That we had never heard of EastEnders or tasted tagliatelle? Will someone please tell them that we stopped living off spuds in the 1900s?
‘I’m sorry I haven’t called you for a while. I’ve been really busy lately — how have you been?’ I knew quite well he didn’t really care whether I had been busy or not, otherwise he would have called me.
The affair was over. There is only so much sex one can have, and the buzz wears off. If there’s nothing else between two people, it usually falls apart very quickly after that. Just like we had. I could detect the hesitation in his voice. I wasn’t really supposed to be phoning him, I knew that. So I cut straight to the point.
‘Hey, Andrew, I just wanted to let you know that I’m returning to Ireland. For good.’ I was determined to keep my secret to myself, but somehow I felt I had to make the phone-call anyway.
‘Oh? I’m not surprised, really. When are you going? Perhaps we can meet up before you leave.’
‘Thanks, but I’m actually going tomorrow. I just didn’t get the time to call you before now.’ I could literally hear the physical exhalation on the other end of the phone.
His voice rose an octave with relief. ‘Well, will you leave me a forwarding address? You never know when I might be in Dublin.’ He sighed, delighted to have escaped all that shite. ‘If you ever need anything, Jack, don’t hesitate to contact me. I really enjoyed being with you.’
I will never need you. How I wish I could tell you that. It is enough to know it. You great big gobshite. ‘Thanks, it was fun for me too,’ I told him politely. ‘More fun than you can ever imagine. I think I will always remember you.’
He let out a ridiculously feigned laugh. I said goodbye, and hung up. I was right. I knew I was right. I was so glad I didn’t have to humiliate myself to find out any more. To always be wondering was there an exceptionally talented father inside him, just waiting to get out? I didn’t think so. I had heard enough to confirm my suspicions.
The next phone-call I made from the flat. It would be long, and I needed the privacy and the quiet of my bedroom. My mother answered the phone. A mere ‘Hello’ had me struggling to keep back the tears. Her voice made me forget I was a grown woman. She had the power to take me back to that childlike place. Instantly, I was nine years old again. I wanted to be back there right now. There, in my mother’s arms. I wanted to be tucked in with my favourite story and the light on low, the door slightly ajar. I was about to destroy that child with my words. In her eyes, her daughter would be gone for ever. The guilt was overwhelming.
‘Mam, guess what?’
‘What, love?’
‘I’m going to have a baby.’
‘Sacred heart of Jesus.’ I could hear her drop the phone as she blessed herself.
‘Mam?’
‘Jack, are you there?’ I could hear her sniffling now.
‘Mam, it’s OK. Honestly.’
‘Oh, sweet Jesus, what will the neighbours think?’
‘Mam, I’m in London. How will they know?’
‘Don’t tell me you intend to bring a child up in that place? Suffering Saint Joseph, what will your father say?’
‘Mam, I’m not coming home unless it’s OK. With you and Dad.’
She was still wailing and calling on the saints. Then, ‘Oh darling, how could you do this to us?’ she sobbed down the phone.
I was getting angry. Despite knowing it would be like this, I hadn’t prepared for the rage I was feeling now.
‘Mam, I haven’t done anything to you, I’ve done it to myself! Why is everybody behaving like they’re pregnant? I’m the one who’s having the baby!’
‘Jack, I can’t think straight. You’ll have to give me some time to talk it over with your father. Sweet Mother of Divine, his heart will give in.’
‘Mam, I’ll phone you later. Mam, I love you. I’m sorry.’ Somehow, the apology seemed empty, a useless word with no meaning.
‘All right, darling, I love you too. We’ll work something out.’
The phone-calls kept coming all day. First my father, then my brother, then my sister, then a neighbour, then a distant aunt who I hadn’t seen since I was two years old. I had visions of the Neighbourhood Watch committee gathering to discuss the situation. By the end of the day, there had been nineteen calls in all. The decision had been made. I was to come home immediately.
My father was furious. He tried hard to remain calm about the whole thing, but I could read between the lines. At one stage, we had a three-way conversation. My parents both went to separate phones, and spent most of the time arguing with each other.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, William. The girl needs our support.’
‘Ah, support me arse, a good boot up the hole would be more likely. If you hadn’t spent your life working away from the home, she wouldn’t have turned out the rotten rip that she is!’
‘Don’t listen to him, Jack. At least someone brought some money into this house. You make my blood boil, you — you ignoramus!’
I held the phone to my ear as they argued back and forth. It was hilarious. I might as well not have been there. They were talking over me. When had that started? I couldn’t remember the last time that they talked with me, like a grown adult. They always gathered together to ‘talk to me’, but it never happened. They wanted to be morally supportive parents, united and strong, pulling together for the sake of their wayward daughter, but they invariably ended up like this, at each other’s throats. Talking about their own stuff. Stuff that had nothing to do with me. It
was a battle of the most persistent. My mother always won, hands down.
That night I crawled into bed desperately wanting to sleep, but knowing the hideous nausea would be there to greet me when I woke up. I dozed off and dreamed of Matt, my teenage lover. It was the original nightmare. The recurring one I had had since I was a child. The people in it changed from time to time but the content was always the same. He was laughing at me and pointing his finger in my face. It was horrible.
The following day, I collected my aeroplane ticket and packed my meagre belongings. There were several outbursts of tears from Jill. She had gone shopping and handed me some gifts to take home. As practical as ever, they included vitamins, and anti-stretchmark cream. One of them was a small envelope. I opened it up and found a tiny wristband. It was her hospital name-tag from when she was born.
‘I want you to have it. It’s the most precious thing I have that I could think of to give you.’
‘I don’t know what to say. Christ, do you really want me to have it?’
‘You’re my best friend!’ She threw herself at me and started to wail.
‘I’ll cherish it,’ I whispered. Again, I was comforting someone else. ‘Jill, I’m going to be fine. I’m not being sent to Auschwitz or anything.’
We stood there hugging and laughing and crying. It would be a long time before we saw each other again.
Joe took me to the airport. The journey seemed to take for ever.
He was quiet and withdrawn. I was nervous and excited. A couple of workmates met us at the departure lounge. We said our goodbyes over a few quick drinks. I promised to return with ‘red’ lemonade and draught Guinness ‘in a bottle’, both of which they refused to believe existed.
Before I knew it, the last call for boarding was announced over the intercom. Standing at the gate I suddenly felt sad. Joe had his hands behind his back and that smug grin from ear to ear. For a split second, I felt something move in me. Had I imagined it? Perhaps it was the baby. Perhaps it was because I was saying goodbye. Joe took his hand from behind his back and held up a fluffy toy.
The House that Jack Built Page 5